


Dancer

by orphan_account



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 4x08, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurel comes to Oliver's rescue, and Oliver remembers something from his childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted: http://neptvnes.tumblr.com/post/134395282177/oliver-is-pretty-sure-his-arm-is-broken-so-is-his

1.

 

Oliver is pretty sure his arm is broken. So is his bow. When he hears a voice shouting in the distance, the sound is desperate and broken, Oliver understands too well. He’s been desperate. He’s been broken.

He thinks he might be both right now.

His vision is swimming, and it takes a moment for him to realise that this is no ordinary injury. He’s dealt with injuries more painful than this. Has been closer to death than this. 

He fights to keep his eyes open, and he succeeds, he thinks, because he sees yellow hair fly across his vision. A beautiful, deadly dance being performed.

 

0.

 

His mouth is hanging open, and he’s reaching across the arm of his chair to grip his mother’s hand. The dancer is beautiful, and he’s decided he wants to marry her when he grows up. 

She twirls, and twirls, and twirls, and the other dancers follow her lead, follow the rhythm she sets for them. 

Eventually, they all fade away, until she’s the only one left on the stage.

Oliver’s eyes don’t leave the stage, and his hand is clammy from where he’s clutching his mothers’ hand. The dancer bows, and when she looks up, she is looking straight at Oliver. The smile on her face is beautiful and dangerous, all at once.

 

1.

 

“Oliver!”

He snaps awake, and he is not holding his mother’s hand. He is holding Thea’s. He’s never thought of her hands as similar to their mother’s, but it is. Though he’s not sure if his mother had ever gripped his hand quite so tightly.

“… Thea?” he croaks out, and winces at the pathetic sound of his voice. What happened?

“I go away for a week and you get your ass kicked. You really don’t like giving me a break, do you?”

Laurel’s voice. Oliver double checks that the hand he’s holding is actually Thea’s, then tries to pretend he was never unsure when he sees Laurel sitting next to his sister.

“… you weren’t answering your phone,” he mumbles. “Needed to get your attention somehow.”

The banter between them is still new, but it’s refreshing. He looks at her, and tries not to remember holding his mother’s hand and yellow hair twirling on a stage.

“You’ve always got my attention, Oliver.” 

Oliver says nothing. Doesn’t say that for the first time in a while, she’s got his too.


End file.
